Debbie had never known any boys before. She didn't even have any girlfriends. She was brought up in the new suburb of NDG in Montreal, not on a farm, but she had lived as a hermit, like my mother, all her life. She suffered from obesity from birth and what we believed was MS. Later we learned she had narcolepsy.

Along came Ed McSweeney whose parents' lives included mental illness and severe alcoholism. Our darling Debbie was swept away on the wings of "love" into a life of hunger and filth.

Ed and Debbie's home in Pierrefonds, a suburb of Montreal, was a junkyard - dirty, stacked high with old clothes, electronic equipment parts, toys all over the floor and the table. There were cigarette burn holes in the carpet and sofa. The walls, windows, sofa, curtains, were brown, drenched in Ed's cigarette scum and Dawn's baby sister, a toddler when I used to visit them in 1992, reeked of tobacco. Debbie never smoked.

Debbie tried hard, I know. She was always kind and she adored her children. Debbie told my other sister and me, "Ed is my right arm. I love him." She also told us in a phone call in 2009, when I was in hospital near death, that she feared him. His threats were cruel and Debbie was always gentle, naive. When I begged Debbie to get help, she told me to mind my own business or get out.

On two occasions, Debbie left Ed with my help and the generous help of my other sister. But Ed terrorized her until she returned to him. He threatened suicide. He threatened to burn down the house.

Ed and Debbie did attend group meetings, like AA and Ed spent time in the Douglas mental hospital in Verdun, Quebec, after each suicide attempt. But nothing changed.

Ed McSweeney destroyed my family. I know he is mentally ill. I know about the drug treatments and the attempted suicides and his threats. I have tried to spare him public ridicule. But I will not rest until justice is done. And truth is the road to justice.

My darling husband died in 1992. Just after Christmas, 1993, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I was grieving for Cliff. I was unemployed, homeless, often hungry. I was sick and scared numb. I was living in my old Pontiac and in shelters. I rented a room in a rich lady's apartment. My mother pleaded with me to "come home".

At the beginning of 1994, I went to live with my aged parents who were then living alone, and I continued my cancer treatments.

Suddenly at the beginning of October, 1996, Dawn McSweeney and her boyfriend of the time, Alex Lavergne, moved into my parents' home with us. And in less than one week, Dawn McSweeney, with the help of a Montreal Police officer, stole every precious thing I owned.

And, because the Montreal Police refused to take any action to recover my belongings or to bring Dawn McSweeney to trial, she and her accomplices - who she called her "partners in crime" on her own blog - went on to steal everything my father worked for all his life - his home, his life's savings - the inheritance my father willed to each of his children and grandchildren by name in his own Last Testament.

What did these swine do with all my precious jewellery? I lived through hell with the hope that my troubles would be overcome in time and I could return to a normal life and enjoy the fruits of my life's work and all the gifts I had received from people who loved me all my life.

What did the thief do with my precious wedding portrait, my darling husband's Deputy Sheriff badge, my father's wonderful library, the precious, irreplaceable photographs of our family treasured since we were children?

Did the partners in crime sell the fruits and treasures of our lives for cash? Did they toss the rest in the trash? Did they give them away to their accomplices?

What do swine do with pearls?

Our belongings are somewhere. Dawn McSweeney and those who helped her rob me and my family will never have peace until everything they stole is returned to us.